Dreams Rewoven
by RLobinske
Summary: A post Falling Into College story. The loss of a major endowment by the college forces causes Daria to be laid off from her professor position just prior to earning tenure, forcing her to reevaluate her life and where she wants to go.


Disclaimer: Daria and associated characters are owned by MTV. This is fan fiction written for entertainment only. No money or other negotiable currency or goods have been exchanged. Original characters and plot copyright Richard J. Lobinske.

This is a sequel to _Falling Into College_ set in late 2014 and early 2015 and includes a revised version of the previously posted ficlet, _Dinner for Two. White Christmas_ lyrics by Irving Berlin.

Richard Lobinske

 **Dreams Rewoven**

 **College Loses Major Endowment**

"That's going to take a bite out of things," Daria Morgendorffer said as she read the article in the college newspaper.

After four years, her San Marcos College office felt comfortable. From the barrister bookcases to the colorful view of the Bridge of Lions through the window, this had become her second home. Though sometimes frustrated at the privilege many of the wealthy students at the private college brought to class, Daria felt she had found a career. She was making a difference by teaching while sharing her love of literature and writing.

"Come in," she said in response to a soft knock at the door. "Dr. Morrison," she added as the gentle dean entered the room.

He reached for a seat and said, "May I?"

"Of course. To what do I owe the visit?"

Dr. Morrison waved his hand toward the newspaper. "As you can imagine, losing the Campbell endowment has created a budget crisis."

Immediately wary, Daria said, "Yes."

He sighed. "This wasn't a surprise. The board of directors had been in negotiations with the family for the last two months, hoping to avert the loss. Unfortunately –"

"The college wouldn't back down on our same-sex marriage stance and they felt that they couldn't support us because of it."

"Exactly."

Daria turned to look out the window to take in the view. Slowly she said, "The College will have to cut faculty."

"Regrettably."

Daria closed her eyes. "And because I have not yet reached tenure, I'm on the list."

"I'm sorry, Dr. Morgendorffer. It is almost certain that you would have gained tenure and I hate to lose you."

"What about my endowed position?"

"Dr. Leitz will be moved into that position and her old position closed."

Daria opened her eyes, but continued to look out the window. "How long?"

"You will complete the fall semester. The board has authorized two months' severance with health insurance extended for the same period. Personally, I will provide any letter of recommendation you may need to acquire a new position."

"Thank you for having the decency to tell me in person."

"If there is anything I can do to help, don't hesitate to ask."

Daria turned back to face him. "I won't."

Dr. Morrison rose from his seat. "I'll ask around to a few of my colleagues at other institutions. Again, I'm sorry."

"I'll take any assistance you can give me."

Without another word, he bowed his head and exited the office. Daria lowered her head to her desk. "Dammit."

Limping and with mud covering his field uniform, Michael Fulton wearily opened the door to his home and stepped in. "Today sucked," he loudly proclaimed.

At the dinner table and nursing a glass of wine, Daria said, "That's a good word for it."

"I twisted my knee on a loose boardwalk out to the dig, and then the damn thing gave way completely on our way out, dumping me in salt marsh. What about you?"

"I'm being laid off at the end of the semester because of budget cuts."

Michael stopped. "Laid off? How?"

"The Campbell family yanked their endowment. All four of us who haven't reached tenure got the news today."

"That really sucks. I'd give you a hug, but –"

"Go get a shower; I can wait," she said. "Thanks."

"With you being the major breadwinner, this is going to be a big hit to our budget," Michael said as he pored over a spreadsheet on the computer. "Making an offer on a house is out of the question, now."

"It's not like this place sucks," Daria said.

"True, though it's also going to be tight to keep up the rent here."

"We lived through grad school."

"Also true."

"One thing I will not do," Daria firmly said. "I will not go back to adjunct hell."

Michael sympathized, "I don't blame you."

"And if we stay in this area, my options are limited."

"If you have to spread out, I'll understand."

Daria ran her hand through her hair. "We could go back to our old agreement. You can look, too, and whoever finds a faculty spot the other will support"

"That's a possibility, but with me being out of academia for the last couple of years, my odds are even lower than before."

"We can still give it a shot."

"Okay, deal."

On her cell phone, Daria said, "Dad, that's the downside of tenure-track positions. Once you earn tenure, you're protected. Until you get tenure – you're not."

"But you're a great professor!" her father, Jake, protested.

"And one without tenure. Dad, I'll find something. With traffic, I'm only about half an hour from East Florida University, plus I'm within an hour drive of a couple of the state colleges. It's a matter of patience."

"Daria, you know patience and I don't get along very well."

"You wouldn't be my dad if you did. We'll be okay. Michael's position is firm, so we're not going to become homeless and starving in the streets."

"If you need anything-"

"I'm employed through the end of the year, and then I have two months of severance pay after that, as well as buyout for unused sick and annual leave. At this point, I'm hanging on to every bit of that I can, which means we won't make it out to California this Christmas. Sorry."

"No Christmas?"

"Sorry, Dad. We're going to miss everyone."

"We'll miss you, too."

"Change of subject. What's new with you and Mom?"

"Getting used to a brown lawn."

"Q is rubbing off on you?"

"With the drought and all, he makes sense."

"I remember a time when you would rant about having the right to water your lawn whenever you wanted."

Jake laughed. "I was a little high-strung."

"A little?"

"Okay, a lot."

"Mom?"

"Writing away."

"Tell her I framed the first page of her published story."

"I will."

Stirring a pot on the stove, Michael said, "The timing is odd, but I'm glad my parents finally went on a cruise. They felt a little guilty about things, but I convinced them that they had earned it."

"At least your father isn't going to team up with a couple of college students to enter the karaoke contest," Daria said from the dining room, where she was chopping apples.

"I thought we sounded pretty good," he replied, feigning offense.

"Okay, you were better than most of the others."

"Of course we were, and I thought it was kind of cool that your dad went along."

"He seemed to enjoy it."

After placing a lid on the pot, Michael went over to the table and sat down. "Now that she's published, how does it feel to have your mother as a competitor?"

"She's going for the 'Frontlines of Motherhood' market. My stuff is safe."

"If I hadn't heard the stories from you already, I'd think that she made some of those up."

Daria shrugged. "Looking back, Quinn and I certainly gave Mom plenty of material."

"And now, Jacob is giving her more material."

Daria let out a slightly evil chuckle. "Quinn has a handful with him."

"I'm sure that carrying number two isn't helping, either."

"Quinn threatened to hit me if I tell her that she's turning into our mother."

"She'll get over it."

Daria smiled again. "One way or another."

While Michael waited at the dining table, Daria carefully navigated between the two felines meowing at her feet. The two bowls of salmon were the object of their desire. "Could you two possibly be any more spoiled?" she asked.

"It's all your fault," Michael said.

"Guilty as charged."

Daria placed the bowls on a floor pad, next to a pair of water bowls. The cats eagerly started eating the treat. She stood up and watched for a moment before saying, "Enjoy."

"Ready in here," Michael said.

"Coming."

When Daria reached Michael, she put her arm around his waist and examined the table. Neatly arranged was a pair of roast game hens, mashed potatoes, oyster dressing, green beans, cranberry sauce, and a pair of miniature pies. In the middle of the table, a single candle burned.

"It looks delicious," she said.

"I hope so," Michael said before pulling out a chair.

As Daria sat, he walked around to the other chair. After he was seated he reached across the table to grasp both of her hands.

"I certainly have a lot to be thankful for," he said.

"We're both thankful that your position has dedicated funding instead of grants," Daria replied.

"I know you'll find something, trust me."

"I trust you." Daria turned to the cats. "I'm thankful that both of them are healthy and happy."

"You know, I could get used to this. Just us and a Thanksgiving dinner for two."

"I could be talked into making it a tradition."

"Thank you."

Daria smiled. "Thank you."

"Pardon my frustration, but that position was made for you," Amy Barksdale said over her cell phone.

"And now it's going to someone with tenure. You know how the game works."

Fighting back her anger, Amy said, "All too well. At least they waited until after your birthday to tell you."

"I can assure you that wasn't planned. Anyway, Michael is in a solid position and I have options around here."

"You know as well as I do how limiting to a certain area will cripple your job search."

"Yes, I know. We have roots here and I want to stay."

"I hope you're right."

"Me, too. For now, we'll have to cut back and we'll manage."

"If you need help, call. I mean it."

"Thanks Amy, I know you do. I'm hoping to avoid anything like that."

"You're as stubborn as I am, but don't let that get in the way."

"I appreciate it. But enough about that. How was your Thanksgiving?"

"A challenge, as you can imagine with two high school seniors in the house."

"I'm sure. How embarrassing has Reese been around their dates?"

"Not much."

"Really?"

"After all these years, he's finally learning some subtlety."

"Which probably scares the poor boys even more."

"Exactly."

"And now, he's enjoying it. Right?"

"Like a kid with a new toy."

"What's he going to do when they leave for college next year?"

"He said something about buying satellite surveillance time."

Reading a letter from a pile on the table, Daria muttered, "Dammit," and sat down. "No openings for spring semester at Duval State College. I shouldn't be surprised with how late in this semester I was given notice."

"Summer?"

"They'll let me know."

Michael frowned, but didn't say anyting.

"I suppose I can't blame their lack of enthusiasm. We both know that I'll continue looking for a tenure-track position around here."

Michael sat down beside her and slid the chair over. "I know this isn't what you wanted, but you might consider jobs outside of academia. Trust me, it doesn't suck out here."

She sighed. "I suppose, but…my dream so close. It was right there."

"I know. I wish you had been able to stay on, but reality is a pain in the ass."

"I'm not giving up yet."

"I'm not saying you have to give up, just – just to consider other options."

"Consider giving up?"

"Okay, yes. Or, you can think of it as reweaving your fate."

"You mean like, 'Always Look on the Bright Side of Life' like Amy used to hum?"

"That works."

"Brat."

"That's me."

A young man with his red hair pulled into dreadlocks placed the completed exam on Daria's desk and silently exited the room.

Saddened, she looked around the empty space and said, "So that's it. Last class. Last exam. Dammit."

With nothing more to do, she clipped the exam papers together and placed them into her briefcase. Taking her time, she walked to the door, turning to look around before leaving. "Goodbye."

Her exit was stopped short by a dozen or so students waiting in the corridor. The last student out was out in front. "Um, we really think it sucks that you're leaving. So, we decided to give you this."

A young woman stepped forward with a box and presented it to Daria. "We're going to miss you, Doctor Morgendorffer."

She accepted the box with a muted, "Thanks." Lifting the lid, she saw an apple-shaped coffee mug.

The woman said, "With students like us, you need a lot more than an apple to get through the day."

Daria lifted the mug for all to see. "You're not as bad as you think you are, but I'll gladly drink the coffee. Thank you, everyone."

Stacked cardboard boxes lined one wall of Daria's almost-packed office. The barrister's bookcases were empty except for two shelves of old books with handwritten years on the spine of each. Slowly and reverently, she placed her old friend's diaries into the old steamer trunk which had long carried them.

A knock interrupted her thinking. "Enter," she said automatically.

"Hi, Daria," the tall blonde entering the room said. "How are you holding up?"

"Hi, Cat. Better than expected and worse than expected," Daria replied to her fellow faculty member, friend and sometimes mentor.

"I think you're doing better than I would have."

"I'd offer you a chair, but –" Daria said, waving at a chair filled with boxes.

"Don't worry. I see that you are almost done."

"Yeah. Facilities will send a couple of techs up to move my stuff down to the car."

"Is all of that going to fit?"

"No, I'll need to make two trips."

"I see."

"You know what really sucks?"

"What?"

"I wish I could keep the bookcases."

Cat smiled. "You would."

"And I'm going to miss you."

"Oh, don't worry, I'll keep in touch. I need someone to listen to my bitching about the faculty senate and my husband has been clear that is one thing he doesn't want to hear about."

"Okay, if it will save your marriage, you have a deal."

"Thank you."

Daria placed the last volume in the trunk, closed the lid and latched it. "Done."

Cat shook her head. "You're not done. Not by a long shot."

Under a light rain, Gina Fulton-Randall closely hugged her brother when he opened his front door and squealed, "Michael!"

"Hey, sis," he said, hugging back. "Glad you made it."

"I promised you that we would see you for Christmas," she said, releasing him. "It just took a little longer than we thought."

Behind Michael, Daria said, "Why don't you let them inside before the rain gets worse?"

"Oh, yeah," he said, stepping back from the door.

Daria said, "Gina, tell me the truth. Your parents raised him in a barn, didn't they?"

"No, but he acted like it."

"Hey!" Michael protested.

Silent up to this point, Gina's husband, Ashton, said, "Dude, you opened yourself up. You should know better by now."

Michael shook his head. "Okay, I can see it is going to be one of those days."

Looking at the decorations in the living room, Gina said, "I was kind of expecting a palm tree. That's actually a pine."

"We haven't gone that native," Michael said. "Though it is from a tree farm that Karen told us about."

"If a bit scraggly looking."

"It's a sand pine. They kind of grow on you."

"Gives it charm," Gina said.

Ashton said, "Why don't you have ornaments on the bottom half of the tree?"

Daria said, "For the same reason we tied it to the wall – cats."

Gina jumped after a blast of thunder and spilled a bit of eggnog on her leg. "Ack."

"I'll get a rag to clean that up," Michael said, rising from his chair where they had gathered in the living room.

"Are thunderstorms normal for Christmas Eve?" she asked.

"Not normal," Daria said, "but not unexpected. Still better than shoveling snow."

"The jury's out on that," Gina said. "I hate thunder."

Daria said, "In that case, you may not like summer around here."

Gina chuckled. "There's a reason us pale-skinned redheads live up north. My brother's a mutant; I'm still trying to figure out how he hasn't been burned to a crisp."

"SPF 50," Michael said, returning with a retired sock cut into a rag. "Here, sis."

"Thanks, Goofball," she said, taking the rag and blotting away the spilled drink. "But you're still a mutant."

"Always."

Ashton said, "So much for doing the tourist crawl today."

"You're better off this way," Daria said. "Old town is wall to wall humanity with last-minute shoppers. Things will be much better after Christmas."

"When the after-Christmas sales start," Gina said.

Daria said, "Yes, but a lot of people will already be on the road, so it won't be as crowded – and you can get some good deals."

Michael grinned. "That sounded like your sister."

Daria shrugged. "We've rubbed off on each other."

Gina said, "I don't want to rub anything off of my brother. I know what he does for a living."

"You're jealous that I get paid to dig in the dirt like an eight-year-old," Michael said in return.

"Eight – Daria, you are making him grow up a little."

"So, is there anything else to do in this town other than sitting around harassing Michael?" Ashton said.

Gina facepalmed and said, "Christmas Karaoke?"

Michael grinned. "I've always wanted to bring a ringer to a contest."

"You expect me to enter?"

"I expect you to win."

Ashton folded his arms and leaned toward Daria. "They really provide great entertainment when we get them together."

Daria smirked. "They've been great entertainment since the first time I visited their home."

 _I'm dreaming of a white Christmas_

 _With every Christmas card I write_

 _May your days be merry and bright_

 _And may all your Christmases be white_

Daria whispered to Michael, "Do you think she's trying to tell us something?"

"Of course," he replied, while the audience loudly clapped.

Gina smiled brightly, bowed and stepped off the stage.

"I keep trying to get her to professionally record," Ashton said. "She has the voice for it, but she says she doesn't want the stress."

Daria rolled her eyes slightly and whispered to Michael, "Certainly more of a voice than Trent ever did."

Gina joined them. "Was it adequate?"

"Beautiful, as always," Ashton said.

"Thank you, but you're a wee bit biased. Daria?"

She said, "Your husband may be biased, but he's right."

"Thank you. Goofball?"

Michael tilted his head side to side as if in contemplation before saying, "Yeah, adequate."

Gina punched him in the arm and said, "I wish I could have done _Silent Night_ , but they didn't have it in the original German."

"Purist."

"Like you're any better."

The MC took the stage and said, "That didn't take our judges long at all. Tonight's winner is – Gina Fulton-Randall!"

Michael said, "Told you: you're a ringer."

Gina punched his arm again. "Shut up."

Christmas morning, and brightly colored wrapping paper and gift bags littered the floor as the four sat around the living room sipping eggnog.

Gina said, "I see that Michael has calmed down in his old age. When we were kids, he was bouncing off the walls until Mom and Dad crawled out of bed. Daria, I must compliment you on how well you've civilized him."

Michael said, "I'm still waiting for my cane so I can shake it at the neighborhood kids. Then, my journey to the dark side will be complete."

"I was a brat Christmas morning," Ashton said. "It's a wonder I survived at all, and a jury would never have convicted if I hadn't."

"We really have become responsible adults." Gina sighed. "Maybe too responsible."

"I know that tone," Michael said. "What's on your mind?"

"I don't know yet. Something childish, fun and absolutely irresponsible."

Ashton said, "And I know that tone. Hold on to your pants, folks."

Daria said, "This is about to spin out of control, isn't it?"

"Maybe just a little," Ashton said.

Daria said, "You know, I think Gina is right."

Gina said, "Okay. Any suggestions?"

While Michael tied the small v-hull boat to the dock, Ashton looked at the small masonry fort nearby and said, "You have a work boat. You get paid to drive a boat. You suck."

"Only when I have a dig someplace like this," Michael replied. "We're working on what may have been a campsite for the 1742 construction workers."

Gina said, "You know, when I said irresponsible, I didn't quite mean breaking and entering."

"I'm the site archeologist and I have my credentials on me. You're with me, so we're good."

"Even if the park is closed?" Gina asked.

"I don't always work park hours. That's why I have my own boat."

"And they'll just let us have a picnic here?"

"Okay, that's fudging the rules a bit, but you wanted something different."

"Daria?" Gina said.

She shrugged. "You asked for it."

Built on a small island to protect the southern approach to colonial St. Augustine, Fort Matanzas was a single tower with a lower fighting platform and one guard alcove. The four set out a blanket between the fort and the Matanzas River, along with a spread of sandwiches, fruit and sangria. Though there was just enough chill for Daria and Michael to wear long sleeves, Gina and Ashton enjoyed what to them was perfect short-sleeve weather.

Tipsy from the sangria, Gina giggled and squealed with pleasure as a bottlenose dolphin breached out in the river. "This is so cool. It's Christmas afternoon, and we're having a picnic and watching dolphins."

Daria said, "The place grows on you. That's why we're staying here."

Ashton said, "What about your job hunt?"

"It will be around here. No matter how much it complicates things."

"You could become a full-time writer," Gina said. "This is your chance."

"Oh, don't worry; I'll write, but until I can hit it big, I'll still need a day job."

"I suppose you're right, but you can dream, can't you?"

"I had a dream," Daria said, suddenly looking down.

Gina said, "Oops. Sorry."

Daria looked back up. "Not your fault. Someday I'll have a dream again, but for now, I'm still setting up the loom."

 **April 20, 2015**

 **Dear Mr. Stoneler,**

 **After carefully reviewing the remuneration package included with your offer to become editor of _Treasure Coast Lighthouse_ magazine, I determined that it did not meet my needs and expectations. I wish you luck in finding a suitable candidate for this position.**

 **Sincerely,**

 **Daria Morgendorffer, PhD.**

After pressing Send, Daria sighed and said, "Good luck in finding a sucker to take that pittance for pay and lack of benefits. If that's what you pay your staff, I'd hate to see what you're paying your writers, if you are paying them at all."

Disgusted, she got up from the computer desk and wandered out to the living room. She unceremoniously dropped onto the sofa while picking up the television remote. "Now for another binge of classic _Sick Sad World_. My life is so complete."

On the TV, the old, familiar logo appeared. "Psychic predicts cats will take over the Internet, next on _Sick Sad World._ "

"Someone needs to find that psychic. He actually called one right."

Michael removed his light jacket and hung it next to the front door. "How was your day?" he asked.

Still on the sofa, Daria paused the playback and said, "I politely told the _Lighthouse_ publisher to fuck off, found the world's first successful psychic, and contemplated the Zen of cats coughing up hairballs."

"Ouch, sorry."

"How was your day out there in the real world?"

"Spent most of the day cataloging the pottery shards from section C-8, and then the monthly finance report. Not very exciting."

"Trade you."

"Sorry. No hits on faculty positions?"

"Zip, unless you want to move to Miami."

"Not much into twentieth-century archeology. Non-academic positions?"

Daria signed. "I didn't look today. Too depressing."

Michael nodded. "Writing?"

"Nothing," Daria said with a shake of her head. "Muses and depression don't get along."

Michael sat down next to Daria and put his arm around her shoulders. "Anything I can do?"

"This works."

Hearing Fleetwood Mac's _Don't Stop_ ringtone, Daria answered her phone, saying, "Hi, Mom."

"Hi, Sweetie. Calling to see how well you're holding up."

"Not very well," Daria admitted. "How are you and Dad?"

"Oh, the usual."

"Quinn?"

"Oh, she's about ready for things to be over. I know that feeling."

"But the baby is okay, right?"

"Oh, the baby's fine. Quinn's just feeling the usual 8 months pregnant exhaustion."

"Gotcha."

Helen cautiously said, "So your job search isn't going well?"

"So far, the only jobs seem to be those trying to find out how much they can shortchange their employee – if they are not outright just trying to get away with providing them exposure. I'd like to expose them, naked, to the open Atlantic for a week or two."

"How about writing?"

"Fits and starts. For some damn reason, things just don't want to flow like they used to. This isn't writer's block; it's writer's shutdown. I really hope you're doing better."

"I'm afraid I am. Sent another story out yesterday."

"Well, good luck with that."

"Good luck to you, too."

"Thanks, Mom. Make sure I get a call when Quinn goes in. I don't want to read about it on Facebook."

"Don't worry, I'll make sure you're kept in the know."

"Jane!" Daria was surprised and pleased to see her dear, old friend at the door. "When did you get into town?"

"Oh, I hit the city limits about twenty minutes ago."

"Come on in. I don't know why you're in town, but this is a surprise. The good kind and one I needed."

"Hey, useful is my middle name."

"Don't go overboard, Lane."

"Anyway, I drove down because your muse needs a swift kick in the ass."

"I suppose you're right, and you are the one to do it."

"Okay, now bend over."

Helen pointed her smartphone at Quinn, Q and the swaddled infant while narrating, "Daria, Jane, say hello to Frances Helen Morgendorffer."

Looking over her friend's shoulder, Jane said, "Aw, she's so cute, right, Daria?"

"She falls within the definition," Daria said, and then spoke up, "Congratulations, Quinn. Now you get to feel what Mom and Dad went through with us."

"Oh, Daria," Quinn said.

"You know I'm right."

"Okay, okay, you're right. And you know what? I'm going to completely enjoy it."

"I hope you do."

"Did Mom tell you her news?"

"No."

Helen said, "I thought it could wait so that I didn't spoil Quinn's day. I sold my latest story."

"That's good, Mom," Daria said, feeling a sick hit to her stomach that fought with her excitement for her new niece.

Quinn said, "Do you know when you can come out to meet Fran?"

"I really don't know," Daria said. "But I'll see what we can do. Until then, make sure to send plenty of photos."

Q said, "Oh, you don't have to worry about that."

Jane whispered to Daria, "Why do I think that little girl is going to be spoiled?"

Daria said out loud, "Oh, she's going to be spoiled, but somehow, I think her parents are going to still teach her responsibility. Just a hunch I have."

Quinn kissed Fran's forehead. "Thanks, Sis."

Both with their feet propped on the coffee table, Daria and Jane watched a grunge music nostalgia show on television while passing a tube of chocolate chip cookie dough back and forth. Daria said, "Good idea, Jane. It's been a while since we've done something like this."

"Of course, neither of us have the metabolism to eat this on a regular basis anymore. But once in a while, you have to say, screw it," Jane said before accepting the tube and taking a bite.

"Lately, I just feel disconnected. I just don't seem to have a direction or a purpose. Job hunting is turning into an exercise in frustration and my writing is going nowhere."

"Hmm," Jane said, handing the tube back over. "Remember how you used to dream of having nothing to do like this?"

Daria took the tube, bit a chunk out and sat back, thinking.

"Daria?"

Finally, Daria said, "Jane, you're a genius."

"Well, I know that, but a genius about – what?"

"Cookie dough, the two of us sitting around, trying to find something for me to do instead of nothing."

"Uh…?"

"I've got an idea. More like, I'm reusing an old idea."

"Why does Daria need me to sign something?" Helen mused as she opened the e-mail attachment. Reading the content, Helen smiled at the memory of Daria's agreement to write a story a week during the summer after high school. She typed a reply.

 **I'll have it back to you by the end of the day.**

Cracking her knuckles, Daria lowered her hands to the keyboard and started typing. The writer's block was gone – replaced with a new determination to make her dream happen.

 **"I know you're retired," the young agent said, "But the President has invoked CARA, the Critical Asset Reactivation Act. Your services are needed by your country."**

 **"Somehow, I always knew I'd come back to this," Melody Powers said. "Where am I going?"**

Thanks to Louise Lobinske and Kristen Bealer for beta reading.

August 2015 – October 2016.


End file.
